prompt: come home with me.

Nate's jaw locks on one side at the sight of her. A jolt into place, a moment of preparation for whatever speech he's been prepping while waiting for Annalise to head to the courthouse. She's got three ignored calls and at least four messages that she hasn't even bothered reading, all from him. So she takes a second to set her shoulders and get ready to fight back.

She calls to him from a few steps away. "You can't take a hint?"

He chuckles in that breathless way of his. "Didn't want to." He pushes off her car. "How long are we going to keep doing this, Annalise? How long are you gonna push me away as if you don't want this?"

She stops with her brows knitted together. Her lips part, and her tongue pokes out to soften her lips around her words. "I don't." [[MORE]]

He shakes his head. "You can't mean that."

"I told you everything I needed to say in that voicemail. Now, if you'd please." The dismissal works about as well as she could've hoped. She steps around to her side of the car, and he turns to keep her in his sight. Like he can't help watching after her, like he can't imagine that she could do fine without him.

He lifts his phone up and hits play. Her own voice rings through the garage. Her own, sober voice.

"Don't come back, Nate. Please. It's not just about you being too good, or about me being awful; it's about… it's time we let go. Don't worry about me. I'm getting better. I'm going to meetings, and I'm not even alone in the house. I'll be fine. So, you're free."

"Free?" Nate repeats. "Who said anything about wanting to be free?"

It's her turn to chuckle, to let the bitterness bubble out into a gust of "Seriously?" One hand lifts up to steady herself on the hood of the car. Ground her into something since he apparently doesn't want to stay in reality. "You were the one who told me to get help. To stop being a cancer in your life. Or do you not remember that?" Her other hand slaps against the side of her thigh. "I do."

"Yeah, but—"

"But what? Was I supposed to better myself and come running back to you? I was miserable in that house. I…." She lost a husband there. Lost opportunity after opportunity to have a family, lost the family that she had built, suffered through recovery and a descent into alcoholism that still has a hold on her, that will probably always turn her eyes to the now empty glass case in her office. But here's the thing:

She has something now.

Yeah, there's empty cases and cabinets. Drawers that used to hold memories with Sam, or stashed away baby clothes like some day she could look at them and not remember crunching glass and wailing until her throat felt like it had shredded and shedded inside of her. She had hardwood floors without rugs to cover long bleached stains. She has a building collection of trash films that she watches over junk food and slightly begrudging study sessions with the students she hand-selected to be the best. And she has a new housemate who won't replace her food or expect her to go back to who she once was.

Nate stares at her with nostrils flared and eyes wide and waiting. "If you're miserable, then let's start somewhere new. Let's make this work." He steps aside, moves to walk around the car to meet her, but she doesn't move to meet him. "I don't know what it is about you, but I am not ready to let that go. So please, come home with me."

"No." She says it before she processes it, before she can think twice or contemplate a future with this man who could probably love her right. "No." She doesn't need someone else who wants to fix her or mold her in his image. She had Sam for that. She just needs someone who will meet her where she is and let that be enough. "I meant what I said, Nate. Please don't make me say it again."

"Because you can't. You'll know that you're lying."

"I'm not lying!" And, God, her voice echoes for a second. The bass trembling in her throat. It's a release and an exhaustion at the same time. "I'm not pushing you away because I hate myself. I am doing what's right for me and not giving a damn about what anyone else has to say about it." She drops her hand back to her side. She lets herself be for a moment. "I've spent the last… two decades caring for everyone else. Saving people who would sooner shoot me before they thanked me. And I've lived through all of it. Now I just want to go home."

Nate scoffs. "To that boy?"

Her eyes narrow. So he's been watching her? Watching Wes come in and out with the key he's had almost as long as Nate has.

She tries not to compare them too much. They both give her that look — like they want to protect her from everyone who doesn't see the beauty when they look at her. Like they might kiss her and kill her in equal measure. But Wes….

She shakes her head at the same time as her chest expands, as her breath gets a little easier.

Nate only mentions Wes to get a rise out of her, and she refuses to let him get in her head. She might not know exactly what's going on with her and Wes, but she'd take coming home to him over Nate any day.

So she pulls her bag the rest of the way onto her shoulder and opens the door she's been blocking.

"Goodbye, Nate."

He says something to her while she slips into the car, but she hits the lock button over the sound of his voice and lets the sound of the engine drown out whatever else he has to say to her. She's done listening today.

.

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